Little Belle Gone

by Whitlock, Stephanie

  “I would like that very much, Liz, but I don’t think tonight is the night. I’ve been thinking. Thinking that this thing between us, it’s special, powerful, and very fragile. I want to do right by you, I need to do this right, and coming up for coffee, no matter how much I would love it, wouldn’t be the right thing to do. I want to take you out to dinner, maybe to a show or a ball game first. Show you what dating is really like. I shouldn’t have touched you the way I did today. It was disrespectful, and no matter what lie I tell myself, that truth is always there. Please, please, don’t see this as a rejection, because it’s not. To tell the truth, I want to come up to your apartment with you right now so badly my legs are shaking, but you deserve more than that, and I intend to be more for you. Do you understand?” To his relief, the widest, most glorious, smile spread across her face as her eyes mysteriously shifted to the clearest blue he had ever seen. “Your eyes are simply magical, you know that?” He chuckled as he squeezed her hand and kissed it gently. “Goodnight, Liz. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at eight, okay?” Still grinning like the Cheshire cat, she nodded and slid from his car. He watched as the doorman let her in and waited for her to disappear into the elevator. Pulling his car back out on the road, and turning for home, he sighed. It had taken every ounce of his self control, but he had done it. He had shown her the respect she deserved from him, even if it did mean he would be sleeping alone again tonight. He headed for home, knowing that the feel of her in his hands, around his fingers, would force him to do shameful things simply to fall asleep.

  Elizabeth felt light headed and weak as she leaned against the wall of the empty elevator car. He had refused her invitation, but he had given her so much more. He had shown respect and warmth of feeling that had nearly melted the wall around her heart completely. She drifted away from the moment as her thoughts filled with him, his voice, his staggeringly blue eyes, his warm, strong, body, and his wonderful heart. She was so blissfully distracted that she didn’t seem to notice when the elevator stopped on the 2nd floor, letting a rather shady looking man into her car, or that he seemed to be intentionally hiding his face from her. She didn’t seem to notice how, when she drifted off the elevator after it reached her floor, that he followed her. Nor did she notice him pull his hood up over his face or the three men, similarly shrouded, that joined him, following her down the hallway to her apartment.

  Perhaps if she had noticed them, what happened next wouldn’t have happened. As she fumbled with her key in the lock, the men seized her. Jerked so suddenly from such peaceful and serene thoughts, she was left momentarily defenseless and a moment was all they needed. Before she could gather enough of her whits to fight back, a hand, draped in fabric, clasped across her face. The familiar smell of chloroform filled her mouth and nose as the world faded to black all around her.

  She wasn’t sure how long she had been unconscious. Her mind swam in a sea of nausea and fog as she tried to open her eyes. Her lids were so heavy. Sounds of crashing, breaking, reached her, muffled by distance. She tried to rub her face, but she couldn’t, couldn’t move her hands…why? She tried to think, tried to understand, but everything was so fuzzy. Then, she wasn’t alone. A shadow through her eyelids. Something about the presence made her bristle, want to run and hide like a scared little girl. That smell…an odd mixture of stale cigar smoke and dried blood…him. Her nightmare had come true. He had found her. Gripping terror surged adrenaline through her body, the rush pulled back the fog in her mind. She started to take stock of her situation. Her hands were bound, duct taped, behind her back. She leaned on her shoulder a bit harder, her eyes still closed as if she was unconscious. Soft and plush, she found her bed beneath her. She was still in her apartment. Trying to focus on the distant sounds of destruction, she flinched when his hand touched her hip. He laughed harshly, and she knew her cover was blown.

  “Awake so soon? You’ll spoil your own surprise.” The sound of his familiar growling voice turned her stomach. When the hand resting on her hip tightened and began to slid up onto her waist, she tried to kick him, only to realize that her wrists were not the only part of her that was bound. Pain raced through her ankles as the edges of the silver tape cut into her flesh. His snarled laughter rang again as his fingers dug painfully into her side. “I’m not stupid, little Belle.” The disgusting sound of his pet name for her sent a ripple of rage running through her. So he thinks that a little tape can keep me from fighting back, huh? Gathering her strength, she forced her eyes open, blinking against the blinding light of her bedroom overhead, as if she had been in darkness for days only to suddenly have the sun break in on her. She was too frenzied to care. In spite of the pain, she focused on him, his face covered entirely by that shiny, black, fabric mask. The illusion it created heightened the terror in her heart. Arching her back sharply, she flung her bound legs at him. His obsessive need to touch her had brought him far too close. Her feet hit him squarely in the center of his chest. The loud thud was accompanied with the gratifying sound of his breath being knocked right out of his body. Gasping, he stumbled back, slamming into her dresser with such force that the mirror hung above it fell forward, hitting him in the head with a shattering crash.

  The rumbling sounds from the rest of her apartment stopped. Hearing the rush of footsteps, she rolled backward across the bed and off the far side, slamming hard into the floor. Gritting her teeth against the shock, she rolled back the other way, finding herself tucked, temporarily, under her bed. Her forehead hit something warm and fuzzy, Bucky. He had been hiding quietly under her bed this whole time. For a second she remembered his sudden appearance that day in the Lyski’s apartment, musing that perhaps he had been hiding under their bed from Matthew.

  Matthew. She shouldn’t have thought of him. The second he crossed her mind she felt her entire body cry out his name. She wanted him here, more than anything, protecting her. No, she had to focus. The sounds of feet on her bedroom floor echoed around her, the clamber to help her attacker up and out. She had to get free, had to fight, had to win. Rolling up onto her side, she arched her back as far as she could, pulling her hands down around her bottom and tucking her legs through. Quickly, her hands now in front of her, she bit into the tape, pulling and tearing at it with her teeth. She screamed when a hand dug into the flesh of her shoulder, dragging her toward the edge of her bed. She started bucking wildly, but the hand held fast, the nails slicing her flesh. His turn to yell in pain. Bucky, that wonderful little fluff-ball, had sunken his teeth deep into the meaty part of the hand, just below the pinky. The shock of the dog bite forced him to release her. Wiggling back, farther under the bed, she ripped through the last few centimeters of the binding.

  Her wrists fell apart and she flung the wadded tape band off to the side. Scrunching up, her fingers tore into the tape on her ankles. Almost through, the hand that had grabbed her shoulder reached under again, this time seizing her calf and hauling her halfway out, into the open. The enraged attacker followed her exposure with a stomping boot to her abdomen. The impact had sent her snapping upward, slamming the right side of her face hard into her bed’s under carriage. Blinding pain seared through her and the taste of blood from her lip filled her mouth, but it would take a lot more than that to incapacitate her. Furrowing her brow in rage, she kicked hard with her left leg, shredding the last of the clinging tape. The kick was wild but strong, hitting the figure over her hard just inside his thigh, missing his manhood by fractions of an inch. Her assailant, obviously realizing how close he had come to crippling pain, stumbled back, away from her. Seizing the moment, she allowed her instincts to take over. With speed he did not expect, she rolled free of her bed and snapped to her feet. He tried to grab her, but she sidestepped him and, crouching low, drove her fist deep into his stomach. When he doubled in pain she clasped his wrist, jerked his arm straight, extended her frame and twisted it, sending him crashing head first into the floor in one swift motion. Placing her foot on the exposed flesh at the back of his neck, she press
ed down as she pulled his arm up, feeling the tendons and joints stretching and dislocating under her power.

  She hadn’t intended to kill him, but the fury and terror warring within her had given her attack more strength than she had realized. Feeling the sickening snap of his cervical vertebrae under her foot, she released him. It hadn’t occurred to her that there was more than one other attacker in her apartment and the scuffle that she had just fatally finished had left her back to the door. Arms wrapped violently around her, lifting her small frame off the ground. So, she thought coldly, the rush of combat turning her insides to ice and cruelty, he thinks picking me up will subdue me? Bucking hard, she slammed the back of her head into his face, shattering his nose. His cry of shock and pain was accompanied by a staggering backwards that eased his grip on her. Driving her heel upward between his legs, crushing his testicles, she was released from him completely. Turning on him, bent, bleeding, and moaning, she spun on her toes, arching her leg into a stunningly graceful kick that hit the side of his head so firmly that he fell backward across his dead comrade, completely unconscious.

  All too aware now of the possibility that there were still more attackers, she wasted no time. Running through the door, the rest of her apartment came into view, utterly ransacked and containing three men. The other two were helping him as he tried to right himself, her chest kick, and the heavy mirror falling on his head, had rendered him incapacitated. He was starting to rouse when he saw her standing, unbound, ringed in raging fury, in her entry way. Pointing at her, he shouted something she didn’t understand and the two men, unmasked and dressed in filthy, torn street clothes, moved across the room together.

  Two attackers now, she could do this. Aggression mixed with expertise as she narrowly ducked under one man’s swing while landing a sharp kick to the others lower abdomen. The man she had just cracked in the stomach staggered back a few feet, giving her room to spin. Still folded in half, she lashed out expertly at the other. Her open palm impacted his chest with such force and precision that his face blanched. She had knocked all the air out of his lungs, leaving him gasping and reeling backward into the wall behind him. Fingers grasped around her wrist as “gut shot” regained himself. She latched onto to his wrist in return, rotating it over her head and hurdling his body over her shoulder, slamming him painfully, head first, into the floor. The sound of his humorous snapping was followed by the rending of his flesh, causing a hard edged to press against his tattered sweatshirt sleeve as it quickly soaked through with blood.

  His bloodcurdling cry of pain fell silent as he passed out in shock and was followed by the thundering sounds of feet. Looking up from the attacker crumpled below her, she managed to catch a final glimpse of him sliding through her door, running away from her lethal fury. Part of her wanted to run after him, chase him down and snap his neck. She had already done it once tonight, even though this time would not be an accident, but she couldn’t. The breathless attacker launched himself off the wall, charging at her like a mad bull. Side stepping his surging momentum, he hurdled out of control past her. Unable to stop his charge, he slammed head first into the edge of her kitchen counter. The bone-shattering sound as his skull caved around the corner of the granite counter top signaled his death. Looking down at the broken, unconscious, man at her feet then back through her bedroom door at the two men, one dead, in her bedroom, she realized that it was over. The fog left over from the chloroform in her system surged past the ebb of the adrenalin that had allowed her to fight back.

  Weakness flooded over her. Staggering on her shaking legs, she lurched for her apartment door. She fell into it, slamming it tight and bolting it shut. Stumbling across her demolished apartment, she rummaged in the debris for her phone. She had to dial the number three times before she got it right and, as the dispatcher’s voice came across the line, she felt her head starting to swim. There was so much she wanted to say, to tell them that the killer was here, fleeing on foot, that there were four men, two dead for sure, littering her apartment floor, that she needed an ambulance, but mostly for them to call Matthew. Unfortunately, she couldn’t get out any of that. Managing only to squeak out, “officer needs assistance,” in a weak voice, her body lurched forward and slid to the floor. As the world faded around her, the dispatcher’s voice calling loudly, trying to bring her back on the line, was the last thing she heard. She felt a soft small body curl up against her chest. Bucky. His chin nestled protectively across her neck as the world drifted into nothingness around her. Her last thoughts were of Matt. She wanted him here, close to her. She wanted to hold him more than she had ever wanted anything. She knew now that she couldn’t wait, not anymore. This mad man could get to her where ever, when ever he wanted and she could no longer count on tomorrow. As her mind filled with cloudy sleep she formulated a simple plan, she would give herself freely to Matt, for as long as she had left, and as soon as possible.

  Chapter 24

  Matthew sped through the red light, not even slowing down. The throbbing heartbeat in his ears drowned out the honking horns and angry shouts from the cars that so narrowly missed slamming into him in the intersection. He didn’t care. Nothing mattered but reaching her, his Elizabeth. Fifteen minutes ago he had been tucked into his bed, trying desperately to fall asleep after he had failed to resist the temptation to gratify himself to the memory of touching her, caressing her, when his phone had rung. He had dropped her off nearly three hours before heading home to pace his apartment in frustration and loneliness. That phone call had shattered his world. Elizabeth had been attacked. All the officer could tell him was that she had been taken to Mercy Hospital. That was fifteen minutes ago, and now he was driving like a man possessed toward what could be the end of all his happiness.

  He was so angry with himself. He had left her, driven away into the night. He should have walked her to her door, waited until he heard her lock click tight. After all he, more than anyone, knew that there was a killer out there targeting her. But he hadn’t gone with her. He had chosen to allow her to go alone into the unknown. Deep down he knew that he would not have simply been able to walk her to her door. She would have smiled at him again, arched against him and he would have caved to his lust, followed her into her apartment, and crossed the line. He didn’t want to rush things with her, he told her as much, trying desperately to justify his inaction. With every argument against, his anger surged forward, an argument for. Maybe if he had been with her the attackers would have rethought their assault, left her alone. He would have been able to fight with her, for her, protect her the way he had promised himself he would. He had failed her and now she was in a hospital, possibly seriously hurt, and it was all his fault.

  His tires screeched as he pulled up in the fire lane in front of the emergency room entrance. Jumping from his car, he ignored the shouts and threats from two emergency room nurses. Flashing his badge as he pushed through the door, he approached the nurses station in a frantic fury. One of the nurses, terrified by the state he was in, fled when he demanded to know her room. Another nurse appeared to order him to calm down and found his badge thrust in her face, followed by another, almost visceral, demand to know where Detective Elizabeth Cord was. Wanting to get rid of him as fast as she could, she pointed shakily down the hallway. When he immediately turned and bolted in the direction of her quivering finger, she called out after him that she was in room 114.

  Sliding around a corner, Matthew came face to face with a more than flustered Captain Moreano. For a moment they stared at each other, then Matt found his voice. “Sir, I just heard, is she alright?” Some professional part of him thought to disguise the panic and fear in his voice. Moreano had given them a rather nasty look after their sparing session, though the outfit she had been wearing would have caused most men discomfort of a certain sort. At the time, Matt had gotten the distinct impression that he would be exceedingly displeased with the news that Elizabeth, his precious protege, was engaging in an interoffice romance, especially with him. His
self restraint proved fruitful.

  Moreano gave him an appreciative look, as he said, “I admire your loyalty to your partner, Barrow. She is fine, a few bumps and bruises but otherwise unharmed. She was ambushed by at least four men and forced into her apartment, a home invasion by all appearances. I don’t know all the details, but it seems she was drugged. Even so, she managed to subdue all four men.” From behind him, a uniformed officer snorted in derision. Moreano’s face contorted into a piercing look of disgust that made Matthew uncomfortable. “Is there something you wish to add, patrolman?” His voice was far calmer than his face conveyed and the poor uniform couldn’t see just how dangerous his position was.

  “Subdued? She killed two of them and put one in a coma. The other managed to get off easy with a severe concussion and a rather brutal compound fracture.” When Moreano spun on him the officer shrank, cowering in fear.

  “She did nothing less than defend herself, officer Parker. Considering the fact that she was drugged and bound, facing four attackers its a wonder she’s not dead. Frankly, I would have preferred she’d killed all four. Then, at least, there would be less paperwork and no trial.” The sheer rage in his voice was shocking but, when he turned back to Matt, he was decidedly calm again. “Make your visit brief, Barrow, I want you to work the crime scene. I think it’s important that someone who knows her…personality, be involved. I would do it myself, but I have too much on my plate to give it the attention it deserves.” With a cool nod, Moreano brushed past him. Matt started to move again when the Captain called after him one last time. “Oh, and Barrow, be careful. She wouldn’t leave the dog behind in her apartment so the E.M.T.s brought it here. The staff aren’t too thrilled, but he makes Elizabeth feel safer, I guess. Just keep your fingers back, that damn dog tried to bite me, twice.” Then he disappeared around the corner.